


My Dudes: The Toyhammer Chronicles

by TheMadSlasher



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Affectionate Parody, Alcoholic Space Wolves, Chapter Zombies, Cliche Premise, Gen, Humor, Lighthearted Fic, Mini!Hammer, Multi, Other, Politically Incorrect Humor, Satire, Tiny!Hammer, Toyhammer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 02:10:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3918937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMadSlasher/pseuds/TheMadSlasher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A nearly-out-of-high-school 40k fan's miniatures suddenly come to life. This may or may not be as fun as it initially sounds. It certainly increases his stress levels and decreases his financial stability!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: This fic will contain humor which will probably be offensive on several different levels. If you're easily offended by controversial subjects, I'd suggest you do not read this fic. All comments on this fic complaining about the humor will be deleted; you were warned. 
> 
> I wish to thank my friend Madassa at Y-Gal for advice and encouragement given to me during the writing process

**My Dudes: The Toyhammer Chronicles**  
When I first got into this hobby, I was told it would be expensive. And it really really fucking was, thank you Games Workshop for practically raping my piggy bank in the ass... But it was when all the little bastards came to life that the expenses really shot up.

My name is Alex and this is the story of a really fucked up shopping list. 

It all started on the afternoon of May the 3rd. The news said my town was going to be the center of the freak thunderstorm which had NOAA confused. "Literally came out of nowhere" and the usual stuff incompetent bureaucrats use to excuse themselves when they fuck up but want to keep their job security...

I looked out the window and the clouds certainly looked freakish enough; the usual black was streaked with the kind of pink-purple sort-of-nebula look you'd expect from a Warp Storm in 40k. This gave me an idea; I fired up my PC and went to the 40k internet forum I used. Eventually I was typing up a few jokes in the forums, such as the Sisters of Battle reminding me of all those sexually-repressed Evangelical chicks in high-school abstinence clubs... the Space Wolves being a bunch of alcoholics and how all that rowdy viking bromance is just an invitation for the slash fangirls to go wild... the Salamanders having a really obvious pyrophilia problem (let's be honest, the black jokes are getting tired)... and don't even get me started on the Blood Angels (please Lord Tzeentch, don't let Slaanesh make the Blood Angels popular amongst Twilight Moms!). 

Half way through writing the post, a savage crack boomed through my ears and all the power went out; my screen died like Angron's adoptive 'family' (yeah, I know, cruel joke... if you _really_ want to hear cruel jokes, ask me for the Holocaust humor!). _Lightning_ I presumed before I got out of my chair and walked through several darkened rooms to reset the fuse box.

Then I returned to my room and first encountered the situation which would render my finances tighter than a Sister of Battle's vagina.

I froze in place; my jaw dropped and my eyes went wide. My irises darted around wildly as I saw my squad of Blood Angels _flying around with working jetpacks_ and hovering around my head like a bunch of mosquitos.  
"Unidentified creature sighted," one of them said clinically.

"The Codex Astartes mentions nothing about this situation..." came another voice from atop my desk; my squad of Ultramarines was lined up in a perfectly ordered phalanx formation behind their Sergeant, who was flicking through a very small tome and scanning the pages like a college student that swallowed a whole bottle of Adderall. 

"Put that book away, pauldron-polishers, and take a look!!!" came a nearby bellow from my Space Wolf squad; one of the pack's Blood Claws was pointing his chainsword in my direction.  
"'Tis a titan of a man, larger than Russ himself! Clearly a trick of Chaos! Let us purge the abomination!!"

"May I suggest using fire?" said the Salamanders Sergeant. His voice was deeper than the others, and more ponderous. I rolled my eyes at his predictable statement; _at least you didn't say anything relating to fried chicken and/or watermelon_.

"In the Emperor's name," came a voice much more in the treble register, "we shall bring His light and rid ourselves of this monstrosity!" My squad of Sisters of Battle stood atop a small stack of books on my nightstand. The Sister Superior looked down at those books beneath her feet for one moment before she looked me straight in the eye with an angry glare.  
"IT'S A SERVANT OF SLAANESH!" she screeched. 

Okay, it wasn't really a stack of books they were standing on. I admit it. 

I raised my hands very slowly; the Blood Angels manouvered away and maintained a moderate distance.  
"I'm not chaotic. I'm a normal human. And you're all very far from home" I said as steadily as I could... which wasn't very steadily considering that the only rational explanation for what I was seeing in front of me was the consumption of a massive quantity of LSD. 

The Blood Claw laughed momentarily before his yellow eyes met mine; his sharp teeth were bared.  
"Trying to delay your end, Xeno?" he asked rhetorically as his chainsword whirred.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a solitary white pauldron on one of the Blood Angels; I remembered when I painted his model. _Sanguinary Priest. He can prove this_ I recalled before I shifted my gaze to him.  
"Hey, you, Sanguinary Priest..." I said with a touch of nervousness in my tone.

The flying medic hovered in place but did not verbally reply. The scarlet glow of his helmet's eyes remained constant.

"Take a sample of my blood. Scan it. You'll find no mutations. No Chaos stuff. Normal human DNA."

The Sanguinary Priest drifted forward slowly; his fellow Blood Angels pointed their bolters right at my face.  
"Hold still," he said in a voice which made it hard to remember that the Blood Angels are one of the nicest chapters of Space Marines. He disappeared from my sight as he neared my neck (Anne Rice made having a vampire near your neck sound much, much more erotic than it was right now... then again with the Sisters thinking I was Slaaneshi, I was probably safer this way). A sudden but very mild sting shot from my neck to my brain as the tiny needle punctured my skin.

A few moments later, the Sanguinary Priest hovered back. "By the blood," he whispered.

"He's human..." the Priest said two seconds later.

"So can you put the bolters down now guys?" I asked of the bloodsuckers flying around my cranium. They slowly lowered their weapons half-way.

I swear that the talkative Space Wolf looked disappointed at the Sanguinary Priest's reaction.

The Ultramarine Sergeant stepped forward at that time and removed his helmet; his hair was blond and worn in a flat-top. His blue armor was trimmed with purple.  
"I am Tremarius Corronus," he began in a professional yet assertive tone, "Sergeant of the Eighth Tactical Squad of the Seventh Company of the Ultramarines." His tone then became more commanding; "In the name of the Emperor we make the following requests."

The Ultramarines stood perfectly still behind Corronus; the Space Wolves were clustered together and gripped at their weapons. The Salamanders remained still and observed silently, while the Blood Angels remained in the air only about two feet away from my face. The Sisters of Battle clutched at their bolters like a particularly devout Catholic would clutch at their Rosary beads.

Just before Sergeant Corronus opened his mouth to list his demands, a vile roar of rage came from a small black case on my bookshelves; the figure within swung two axes at the plastic confines surrounding him. Those confines were shredded as if they were tissue paper. The figure stood and his bronze-and-red armor gleamed even in the room's low light.

Every Space Marine and Sister looked towards that figure and all of their eyes widened. A few gasps of disbelief were heard. The Space Wolves began to growl threateningly. The pilot flames of the Salamander's weapons seemed to grow brighter.

Yet the figure now freed from the box did not run; indeed, he fell to his knees and clutched at the bronze-colored conduits that streaked across his skull. His bellow was a blend of pain and anger, with only the barest hint of a whimper mixed into it.  
"LET IT END!!!" Angron yelled with skull-splitting violence.

 _Just what I need. A fucking warzone in my bedroom_ I thought. At that moment I was very glad that the Canadian border was close by and their liquor laws weren't written by a bunch of neurotic pre-menstural soccer moms.

 **MAY 3 - EVENING**  
"It cannot be..." Sergeant Corronus whispered. Yet as he kept his gaze upon Angron his widened eyes narrowed back. He didn't fire his weapon at the figure on the shelf.

"He's meant to be larger," the talkative Space Wolf declared with clear disappointment in his voice. "No matter... Today a Daemon Prince shall fall!"

"I look into his eyes and sense no taint upon him," the Salamander Sergeant said in a level tone before he looked over at Sergeant Corronus.

The tiny Primarch remained on his knees and howled again. Ragged, frantic gasps came from the small figure as he pulled in as much air into his lungs as he could.

"A betrayer of the Emperor must be confronted with no haste!" cried the Sister Superior; I heard a small click as she readied her weapon.  
"Prepare your soul for it's reckoning, Khornate traitor!"

"Do not," spat the Primarch back in a voice which boomed like artillery fire, "even mention that name."  
He dragged in another breath; no one interrupted him as he prepared to continue.  
"Do not dare mention the one tyrant I hate as much as your liar Emperor!"

The Space Marines and Sisters paused for a few seconds as they took in those words. Angron leant over and rested on his hands momentarily. His axes lay at his sides and he did not keep ahold of them. His inhales and exhales sounded more like noises from an engine than a person. He managed to haul himself back up to his feet, yet the axes remained on the ground.

"A simple trick!" the talkative Fenrisian declared angrily as he kept his yellow gaze pointed at the Primarch.

"Khornates are not the kind to make tricks," the Salamander Sergeant said to the Fenrisian. 

The Blood Angels flew closer to the larger figurine and orbited the stationary target. 

Angron looked up at them and grit his sharpened teeth.  
"You bloodsucking demons with angel's faces..." he rasped, "you want to exterminate me like one of your Black Rage-riddled brethren?"

The Blood Angels did not respond. Soft clicks came as they cocked their weapons.

Slowly, Angron began unfastening his armor; tiny bursts of steam came as bolts seemed to unscrew. The sarcophagus of ceramite which had surrounded the primarch opened and revealed his body; even as small as he now was, the immense muscles made his form look inhumanly large and far beyond even the most abusive consumption of steroids. Random scars almost coated the entire surface area of his skin; that skin was almost as bronze as his armor.  
"You wish to end it, Blood Angels? Then do so." His voice somehow managed to become even more hateful as he continued; "grant me the Emperor's Peace."

He fell back down on his knees and raised his hands; he looked expectantly at every flying Marine. There was something in his eyes which made me think he truly wanted them to kill him.

"By Russ's hairy ass," the talkative Space Wolf said as his eyes widened. "It cannot be..."

"You know there's some message in this," I said as I looked over at the viking with a smug smirk on my face, "about things like not rushing to judgment and not assuming you're always right..." I then looked over towards the kneeling Primarch before I continued; "but right now I'm too stunned at seeing Angron negotiate a ceasefire."

A few moments later, Sergeant Corronus paced forward and cleared his throat before he took the parade rest stance. He faced me as his voice returned to the strident tone of before.  
"And why should we, the Emperor's Angels of Death, delay the execution of a known traitor like Angron? Why should justice be delayed?"

"Because we are in this man's home," the Salamanders Sergeant replied before gesturing to the bed and giving a long stare towards Corronus. He took his own helmet off and directed his scarlet eyes to me.  
"This is your domicile, and we shall respect that. I truly cannot explain what has caused us to shrink down to this size but for now, we are guests in this place. Vulkan would not wish for innocents to be dragged into the fires of war."

"How could you suggest such an utter heresy?!?" screeched the Sister Superior from atop my nightstand.  
"The Emperor commands us to wage ceaseless war against His foes! Angron must be punished without delay!"

I couldn't help myself from responding to Jihadist Jane right then; "I know, he was mean to your boyfriend," I said snarkily. I heard harsh barks of laughter come from the pack of Space Wolves.

She only scowled at me before continuing to address the armored men atop my desk.  
"Your faith is weak and you lack conviction in His deity. Hence you show mercy."

"Sister," Corronus replied firmly, "the Sergeant of the Salamanders is right. We may not be in a Macragge temple but basic courtesy requires that we respect this... titan-like human's abode. We can deal with Angron in time and we can work on why we are smaller than a mortal human's thumb and find some way to reverse the situation. I support a ceasefire, binding upon all parties."

"As do I," came the voice of one of the Blood Angels; the red-armored Space Marine landed on my desk and removed his helmet as he walked towards Corronus and the Salamander Sergeant.  
The Blood Angel wasn't the Sanguinary Priest from earlier; I quickly inferred that it was the Sergeant who had just landed (and thankfully he didn't sparkle in the light of my desk lamp).  
"Patrols can be instituted and the threat of Angron can be monitored and guarded against. It would be foolish to act in a situation we know so little about."

"You are obstructing the proper work of the Ordo Ministorium" said the Sister Superior, only to get immediately cut off by the talkative Space Wolf.  
"Then I stand with my brothers, wench," he retorted as he strolled towards the three Sergeants. "The Wolves of Fenris agree to a ceasefire and shall reserve violence for defense."

"Pagan heretic," she snarled in response.

I then walked over to the shelf holding Angron; he still was on his knees.  
"I have no desire to kill you," he stated in a low rumble. "I accept the terms of a ceasefire."

At that moment my stress levels plunged to what would be the lowest I would have to deal with for a month.

 **MAY 3 - LATE NIGHT**  
I really wish my parents never gave me Lego when I was a kid. 

I was just trying to sleep (because frankly it is really hard to sleep when you have about fifty guests, all of whom have swallowed more Kool-Aid than the average suicide bomber, and are armed to the teeth). Then a crashing sound came from my closet. The door to it was open and Blood Angels were airlifting brick after brick of my rudimentary Lego collection up onto my desk. 

"Sturdy prefabricated materials..." Sergeant Corronus said approvingly as he sorted through the pile of plastic blocks. He even came close to smiling when he took ahold of a gleaming white piece. His fellow smurfs were sorting the blocks out into various piles, categorized by color and size. 

In one corner of the desk the Sisters were already constructing a shrine to You-Know-Who. They were going through the few Lego People.  
"No, this doesn't resemble our Lord, this cannot be enshrined..." one of them stated as she moved her hand over the plastic figurine in a suspiciously slow fashion. She then pushed it away.

One of the Blood Angels stood atop an A4 sheet of paper and seemed to be marking it; one of my pencils sat next to him and the lead of it had been broken. As the space-vampire sketched away with that shard of graphite, the other Blood Angels stood around him and commented on his work.  
"It must testify greatly to the majesty of our chapter," one of them said. 

The Space Wolves had already managed to assemble a simple table; it was more than long enough for all of them to sit next to each other on the same side. As they kept constructing it, they added what seemed to be shelves behind the other side.  
"Shrunk as we may be, we shall not be denied a mead hall," one of them grumbled.

The Salamanders already had one wall constructed; they used black bricks yet the base used green ones, and in the center of the wall were several red and yellow bricks arranged into an approximation of a flame.

"Erm, guys?" I said rather harshly as I flicked on the reading lamp, "some of us actually need to sleep for more than two hours a day you know!"

Every single Space Marine and Sister paused momentarily. The Sister Superior glared with righteous indignation, Corronus remained impassive, the Blood Angels simply cast their helmet-covered visages towards me and the Space Wolves seemed to ignore me.

Again it was the Salamanders Sergeant who stepped forward.  
"We apologize for disrupting you," he said, "yet we must protect ourselves against our enemy."

From the shelf, the familiar rumble of Angron's voice came; "I lack any interest in smashing your skulls. I'd laugh were our host to do that for me, however."  
He didn't sound like he was sadistically relishing the thought though; to my ear he sounded weary and frustrated.

"Look," I said, "how about this. Keep it quiet tonight. Let me get some shuteye. And tomorrow I'll get you guys some supplies so you can build yourselves what you need?"

The Space Marines all looked at each other; I saw several of them nod, including Corronus.  
"That is acceptable," the Ultrasmurf stated.

"You are in no place to speak for the Wolves of Fenris, spawn of Guilliman!" roared one of the space vikings (I couldn't tell whether or not it was the same one from before). All of his packmates quickly added the usual "rabble-rabble-rabble."

I just groaned. Fuck my life. Fuck it with a fucking chainsword at this rate...  
"Do I need to get you guys drunk to shut you up?"

Immediately, the Fenrisians fell silent and looked at each other. I could hear whispers begin to rise from them. The talkative one from before stepped forward and flashed a grin at me; his sharp teeth glinted. His hair was a rich chestnut-brown and worn in a single long braid, and his eyes were almost sea-green in color.  
"Were you to get us drunk, Titan," he said in a tone which was cocky yet not demeaning, "you shall have the gratitude of all of us!"

I grumbled as I clambered out of bed.  
"Alright. Back in a minute. And don't trash the place while I'm gone."

When I came back I held a small glass of whiskey in my hand; I looked around the room and noticed that most of the Lego had been placed on the desk in relatively neat piles by now. _At least they're being sort-of-clean_ I thought begrudgingly as I placed the glass of booze down near the Fenrisians and gave them a small measuring spoon for them to scoop it out with.

One of the Wolves quickly hauled out a spoonful - a tub by their standards - of whisky. He took a generous swallow before passing the spoon around ( _I really need to get these guys something to drink out of but what would be small enough?_ ). Each of the tiny Space Wolves took a large gulp.

"By the Allfather," said the talkative Blood Claw as a surprisingly friendly smile crossed his face, "this is almost as good as Fenrisian Ale!"  
He then looked me right in the eye with gratitude and nodded towards me respectfully.  
"Thank you, titan!" he declared, "tonight my brothers and I shall say toasts to your name!"

You know, I should've been flattered. But I knew then that there was no chance in the Warp of me getting any sleep with a Space Wolf party going on. I walked over to my bed and sat down upon it. The Fenrisians asked for my name, and I told them it was Alex. After the third toast to my name, I heard a voice from the Primarch on the shelf; the subterranean gravel was remarkably quiet this time.

"I'd be in your debt if you would spare me from the noise of the mongrels," he said in a growl which somehow bore the urgency of a plead. "Let me leave with you."

The Blood Angels overheard and quickly took flight; they hovered in front of my face yet seemed to look more towards Angron than me.  
"We insist on escorting you," their Sergeant said into my ear with an helmet-filtered voice. "And we advise that you make the traitor leave his weapons here."

"Good idea," I responded. I smiled slightly at the protective gesture from the space-vampires before I placed my shoulder next to the shelves.  
"Jump on," I said to Angron, "but leave your axes."

Angron silently climbed aboard my shoulder. He didn't complain, although he glared towards the Blood Angels. The primarch's weight surprised me and I could feel his body heat through my shirt. 

The bloodsuckers kept their distance with the escort but kept their weapons pointed at Angron.  
"Space Wolves aren't good for headaches, huh?" I asked rhetorically. 

"Bloodshed is the only salve for mine," the bronze-tanned Primarch grumbled grimly. I turned my head to look at him; his head was bowed and posture slumped. The metal conduits of the Butcher's Nails shone even in the low light of the hallway. I remembered Angron's utterly-fucking-miserable backstory and how those implants constantly inflicted pain upon him unless he was killing people. _If normal-size scotch keeps little Space Wolves drunk... I wonder..._ I thought as I walked into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. I took out a bottle of ibuprofen mini-tablets.

"Try these... you might have to grind them up first though. Want some water?"

About half an hour later, I was sitting on the couch in the lounge room. The Blood Angels alternated between hovering around the room and patrolling across various items of furniture. And Angron finally spoke again.

"It works..." he growled. "I cannot feel the nails right now." I turned my head to see the Primarch sitting on the armrest of the sofa.  
"Keep them with you," I responded; the pill bottle came up to his waist as I placed it next to him. He held onto it and... did he smile?

"The Father of Lies gave me an army after he took away my brethren and sistren. Were he to free me from my pain he would've taken away even more. Your benevolence far outstrips his." His gravelly rumble remained flat as he spoke of that, but a quiet note of wonder crept into his voice as he continued;  
"I no longer hear the call of Khorne. This place is beyond the reach of Chaos. From what I see beyond the windows, this is a paradise world. Yet you are human?"

"You either went back in time or got dragged into an alternate reality entirely. I hope that makes sense." _Because it makes fucking zero sense to me_.

"It makes enough," Angron stated simply.

I fell asleep on the couch shortly after.

 **MAY 4 - MORNING**  
I woke up to this awful reek coming from the kitchen. _It smells like some really bad cooking. What, the guys decided to make me breakfast?_ I instantly wondered about the best way to exploit an army of miniature workers but the stench made me question the wisdom of using them as chefs.

When I walked into the kitchen I saw the Salamanders worshipping the ignited stove; they chanted as one of them played around with the gas dial and caused the flames to grow. Then I saw another one holding a fork in the fire and yet another was out of armor. 

_So that's what burning human flesh smells like_ I realized with horror before I ran to the bathroom and struggled with some nausea.

 _Its okay, they're just sick Westboro-level religious-nuts who have their own sick S &M Rammstein-Concert rituals. You can deal with it. It isn't like they brand themselves every ten minutes... they only do it on special occasions. I'd rather drink a whole bottle of champagne on special occasions but whatever.. as long as they don't burn down the fucking kitchen or go around branding other people..._

My breathing steadied as I kept my eyes focused on their reflection in the mirror. It wasn't like I could just ask them to get over their religion ("hey there Mr. ISIS, how about giving up that silly Islam!"). Not yet, anyway.

 **MAY 4 - MIDDAY**  
"Alright," I began reluctantly as I looked at the immensely tiny army in front of me, "I'm going to get some stuff for all of you guys today. I guess the Sergeants will represent their squads and the Sister Superior will represent the Sisters of Battle." I then cast my eyes over to the Space Wolves; "you guys, elect your representative or fight for the right to. I don't care which as long as you don't make a mess."

A pen sat in my hand, and a notepad lay in front of the miniaturized military.

Sergeant Corronus stepped forward and stood at attention.  
"Sergeant Tremarius Corronus of the Eighth Tactical Squad of the Seventh Compa.."

"I know already," I interrupted. I smirked a little at Corronus' sour face.

The talkative Space Wolf from before casually strode forward and chuckled at the Ultramarine's expression.  
"My pack and I are starting to like you, Titan," he said with a grin that bore his sharp canines. His sea-green eyes, however, seemed tainted by red.  
"Your liquor has left my brethren and I with a hangover. Since I am in the least amount of pain, I shall speak for them."

_Well that explains why they didn't fight over it..._

"Haldor Rangvald, Blood Claw. Wolf Lord Tarben died valiantly in the battle before we arrived here," he continued as his voice got slightly somber, "so I speak for my pack. At least for now."

As if on cue, the Blood Angel sergeant came forward; he removed his helmet and a slight hiss of air met my eardrums. My jaw almost fell open when I got a look at him; his long hair shone like black chrome and was darker than any midnight. His metallic silver irises only enhanced his ability to suddenly make my writing worse than Stephenie Fucking Meyer's.  
"Raphael Araxion," he began in a deep and seemingly-haunted voice, "of the Fourth Tactical Squad of the Seventh Company." The twin white blood-drops on his right pauldron and single red blood-drop on his jet-black right knee plate confirmed his statements. I'd go on about the lustre of his blood-red armor if that wouldn't make me sound like a goddamn Twilight fangirl.

Then one of the Salamanders stepped forward and removed his helmet; unsurprisingly his eyes were red and skin was the exact same color as Araxion's hair. Yeah, I know its racist to say "all black people look the same to me" but all Salamanders actually do look the same!  
"Q'dal Py'ron," he introduced himself as (and I don't know if this is the correct spelling but Salamanders love apostraphes so I'm erring on the side of caution); his speech was deep and steady, as if every syllable were carefully considered. His pauldrons were black, with a green salamander head painted upon the left one. Unsurprisingly, a golden flame was painted on the right pauldron.  
"Second Tactical Squad of the Fourth Company," he stated. 

Then the Sister Superior from before strode out, and even her gait reminded me of those Holier-Than-Thou fundie chicks in Abstinence Club in high school (the only club devoted specifically to _not_ doing something). Her armor was silver, and her robes were white with red insides. Her weapon matched the color of the lining. Her hair was chin-length and bone white, and her eyes were brown.  
"Sister Superior Helena Marianas of the Order or the Argent Shroud of the Adepta Sororitas," she said in a voice one would expect from a preacher going into graphic detail about the punishments which await "the fags" once they arrive in hell.  
"And your Lord and Emperor would not approve of that heretical filth you read," she added with a contemptuous sneer. _It's just a goddamn porn stash, get over it..._

I then approached the notepad with my pen in hand; I sat at the desk and began to write. The first item read "painkillers," owing to Angron's needs.  
"Okay, so what will you guys be needing?"

I knew I'd regret asking that question.

**End of Part 1**


	2. Part 2

**MAY 4 - AFTERNOON**  
So then I was on a bus to Canada because of my country's drinking laws. No, not to get drunk, just to buy whiskey for the Space Wolves. 

If any shrink read this they'd be sending the men in white over to my place immediately, I know.

The Ultramarines were on the verge of raiding my mom's linen closet and tearing one of the sheets apart to make togas, so I promised I'd buy them something else they could use. _The Space Wolves will probably want something furry and I don't want them hunting the neighbour's pets. The Blood Angels will probably something red and luxurious and vampire-y so I guess that means red silk or satin or velvet or something. I don't know what the Salamanders or Sisters would want though... I think the Sisters' robes are part of their armor anyway so I guess all they'll need is cleaning supplies. Either way, I'll need to visit the sewing-and-crafts place._

_The Puppies need their own mugs too. Hell, if they're building a mead-hall I'll need to get cups about the size of a thimble... okay, I'll get every thimble the sewing-shop has then._

_Lego, particularly white lego (otherwise Corronus will have a coronary), and styrofoam blocks are needed as well. Construction materials._

_The art store will love me after this visit. I'll need to buy paints so the Blood Angels can get their whole arty thing going (I won't be buying glitter for them.. I'm not dealing with Twilight-vampires). And they want to paint their own chapter house too._

Yes, every group planned on building their own chapter house or equivalent. I bought into 40k figures and instead I get dollhouses. Somehow I think GW's marketing department would consider that bad for the brand image.

The Salamanders asked for some religious supplies, which meant matches and lighters. And the Sisters wanted religious supplies too, _so I guess I'll just print out some 40k Fanart of His Imperial Douchebag. They'll probably plaster the pictures over the walls of their monastery like boy band posters..._

_Plus everyone needs beds too... mini-mattresses? No such thing. Pet beds? Too big..._ but then I remembered one of the rubber foam mousepads I got with the special edition of a video game I bought, and decided on visiting the office supplies store. _I guess thick-enough cotton wool pads could function as pillows? Or maybe they could use the top of the mousepad and either roll it up or place a block beneath it?_

So I finally got back home with bags from the liquor store, toy store, art supplies store, linen-and-sewing store and office supplies store, and felt extremely grateful that the border guards didn't inspect the trunk of the car; I wondered if I should get the Wolves to set up their own moonshine still to spare me the risk. I closed the front door behind me and I could already hear the noises of angry yelling and growling and screaming and ranting. _Please don't let my bedroom look like Fallujah when I walk in.._

My ten tiny Ultramarines were standing in two perfect columns, separating the mob-like clump of Fenrisian rabble from furiously wide-eyed Sisters of No Mercy who were waving their guns over their heads ( _female religious nuts waving guns. Good Palin impersonation_ ). 

"Pagan scum! Heretics! You should all be burned for His greater glory!" Helena Marianas cried out. "Sons of Guilliman, stand aside so we can purge these filthy sinners!"

The Ultramarines remained silent, but a mixture of snarls and howls and laughter came from the Space Wolves.  
"Even before our hangovers faded, we could've wiped the floor with you wenches!" Rangvald declared arrogantly before he moved his gaze towards the blue-armored Sergeant's eyes.  
"You saw them Corronus; they turned on us first!"

Corronus remained silent but I did not.  
"Alright guys, what happened?"

Suddenly, Angron's rumbling voice came from the shelves he was perched atop; the Blood Angels were flying around him like a cloud of mosquitoes.  
"Sister Marianas thought I would make a good sacrifice to her... boyfriend," he said. Was that a smirk?

The pelt-and-teeth-clad pack chuckled at that, albiet slightly. Haldor then looked at me before continuing.  
"The Wolves of Fenris intervened before the Sisters could breach the terms of the ceasefire."

"Sparing a traitor of Angron's calibre is the highest of heresies! More heretical than your storm sorcery! You're obstructing the work of the Ordo Ministorum!" Helena shrieked in response to Rangvald.

"Sister Superior," Sargent Corronus began in a steady, level yet firm voice, "Angron has held up his side of the bargain. Neither Sergeants Py'ron nor Araxion nor myself can sense any chaotic taint, nor can Blood Claw Rangvald. Angron has killed no one since we all appeared in this Titan's domicile, and such... pacifistic behaviour is unprecedented on his part. Remember that our ceasefire is not merely with Angron but with the Titan, who has returned from an expedition to supply us with necessities."

"You traitor," the Sister Superior responded in a quiet rasp, but she lowered her gun. She turned around and led the squad of battle-nuns back to their elected place on the desk. 

I exhaled with relief and nodded at Tremarius.  
"Thanks for the coolheadedness," I stated quietly. 

"And our gratitude for your supplies. You have brought them?" His tone was businesslike and formal yet not too demanding.

"I left them in the kitchen. Just a moment."

I left my bedroom and walked back towards the pile of bags sitting near the sink; unsurprisingly the Salamanders were busy worshipping the toaster.

**MAY 4 - EVENING**  
I wasn't surprised that the Ultramarines placed their outpost near the center of the desk; the structure was built mostly of gleaming white styrofoam with gold paint used for trim, and some purple paint as well for the squad's insignia. Tiny chainswords made surprisingly-clean cuts through the crumbly synthetic material. White lego bricks served for reinforcement and mounting for additional ornamentation. The clean lines of the building soared at least a foot high and the columns resembled the understated, Doric style.

The Blood Angels, however, had managed to outdo the Ultramarines in height at least (only because they flew a statue up to the rooftop, however); they had finely ground away at the styrofoam blocks and even some of the lego until the materials were shaped into delicate and elaborate trims, statues and frescoes. Red paint alongside black lego contrasted with the white of the foam. Unlike the Doric style of the Ultramarines, the Blood Angels went for a more Corinthian look. 

The Salamanders' new building was, at first, more simple-looking; it had a more squat and sturdy shape, yet when I looked closer I could see the subtle and elaborate patterns and carvings etched into the plastic (seriously, I didn't know if I was just tripping out or looking at fractals... or looking at fractals while tripping out). Green paint covered almost everything which wasn't styled into a representation of a flame. A large open space sat near the entrance of their outpost, clearly awaiting a fire pit, but that would need some sort of containment system... I'll think of that later.

The Space Wolves' building was the simplest of them all; a long hall to cover their already-established table and bar. I'd have expected they'd go for something which looked metal-as-fuck, but it seems they cared more about the usage of the place than the aesthetics. The hall still looked sturdily reinforced (I guess bar fights are a big concern), with tall columns of stone-gray lego flanking sheets of styrofoam which they painted to resemble a log cabin (I guess they're homesick or something? Maybe they just didn't want to look like the Ultramarines). Only then did I see the sign placed just above the entrance; "The Wolves' Den," it read proudly, followed by a statement of opening hours. 

So now my bedroom is home to a bar that's only shut two hours of the day. Fuck. My. Life. 

Unsursprisingly, the Sisters of Prudishness had built something which looked like St Peters Basilica got made over by a death metal band. The spires and columns seemed implausibly thin, as if they were mere filaments. Imperial Aquila motifs, like eagle talons at the foot of the columns, were evident, and skulls (I really wish I didn't buy the Lego Halloween set...) were inlaid on multiple walls. Several places, however, were clearly left empty for idols and icons depicting their fantasy boyfriend. Dark gray paint, with flashes of silver and red, dominated the structure and made it look as welcoming as an abbatoir. 

Angron watched silently from his place on the shelf; I knew he'd probably have to build his own house. I took a look at him.  
"How about I get some materials for you?"

The miniaturized Primarch responded in a low, solemn rumble; "your roof provides more than enough shelter for me, Titan. And your tonic," he pointed towards the bottle of pills that stood alongside him, "has given me more luxury than I hath ever felt before."

I remembered Angron's story once more - every night he would've slept on a stone slab or hard wooden bench, or worse. I felt a stab of sympathy right then.  
"What about a bed?" I asked as I reached towards one of the rubber-foam mousepads I bought and held it up to the World Eater.

"I.. I do not believe I hath had a bed in a very long time.." he responded in a careful, almost cautious tone, "except perhaps one made of the corpses of the slain," he concluded more glumly. I gave him the mousepad then; I think he responded with a bare hint of a smile.

**MAY 4 - NIGHT**  
It didn't feel like a dream; it felt like being submerged in that lucid state between awake and asleep. I suddenly felt a rush of warmth through my bloodstream; my heart began to race as an adrenaline-fuelled pleasure began to overtake me. My breaths grew deeper as I felt another surge of ecstasy race through my skin...

Then my eyes opened and I glanced at the epicenter of that sensation; tiny trails of blood were flowing down my wrist and the Blood Angels were lapping at the slowly-descending crimson. _No surprises there..._

The Space Marines clearly heard the change in my breathing; they all stood up and backed away from my lower arm. Araxion cast his silver eyes in my direction. His face went blank momentarily, yet soon he looked down. His little feet shuffled slightly.   
"I apologize, m'lord," the Sergeant began in a voice both solemn and ashamed; the syllables seemed to hang in the air as he paused.

"We.. we were thirsty."

You know, I considered letting them get back to the sucking. I mean, it felt good. But I knew if the Sisters Of Perpetual PMS heard about me enjoying this they'd probably dose me up with neurotoxin sooner rather than later. So I sat up with groan.  
"Look, how about I go to the doctor, and get some of my blood drained, and you can drink that?"

Raphael raised one of his onyx-colored eyebrows curiously, before both his eyes began to widen in amazement.  
"You would... bleed for us?" 

Yeah, I knew he wouldn't have expected anyone to be okay with his chapter's "dark secret." At least he didn't scream "but these are the fangs of a killer, Alex!" So I nodded.  
"Next time I go shopping I'll go to the doc and get some blood drawn. So how about you guys finish up with my wrist and patch me up for now?"

Immediately the Sanguinary Priest took flight towards the bathroom to fetch me a band-aid. 

"You hath given us a true gift, noble Titan," Araxion then said with solemn gratitude. "The sons of Sanguinius shall not forget this."

I guess the space vampire was enjoying a chaser of absolution to wash down the blood, but frankly I was more interested in getting back to sleep.

**MAY 5 - MORNING**  
When the sound first came from the Sisters' temple, I could barely believe it. It sounded far louder than anything one would expect one tiny woman to be able to voice.

No, _When Harry Met Sally_ wasn't playing in the background. 

And then the sounds were echoed by other female voices; one after another seemed to gasp and sigh and groan. A few of the noises ended with declarations; "oh, thank you God-Emperor!" was shouted into the temple's lego rooftop. 

The Sisters. Of Battle. Were having orgasms. 

Haldor Rangvald then stepped out of The Wolves' Den; he had a tankard clutched in his hand, red-rimmed eyes and deep shadows beneath his eyeballs.  
"Keep it down, wenches! Your wailing is more painful than this hangover!" he bellowed.

A few moments later, Sister Marianas stepped out with a scowl on her face befitting someone who's afterglow was ruined.  
"Do not dare object, pagan! Our Lord blessed us with his holy presence and granted us ecstatic visions!" she yelled in reply. Her voice then turned condescending as she continued; "such is the reward for true faith in Him," she sneered. 

"Emperor-Bothering Inquistorial shrew," he snarled in reply.

"Guys, chill out," I said as I strode closer to the desk. "I can't deal with a brawl this early..."

"Nor I," Rangvald admitted in a grumble before he turned back towards the door of The Wolves' Den. He closed it behind him.

Helena then stepped back into the temple; I took a peek through one of the windows and saw that they had plastered several interior walls with icons of their fantasy husband in a way that resembled boy band posters in a teenage girl's bedroom. 

At least the Sisters aren't relying on me to supply them with porn for them to jill off over...

**MAY 5 - AFTERNOON**  
I decided to confront the important question of dinner by opening the pantry and seeing what was inside. There was basically nothing; last time I shopped, I wasn't buying normal food.

When I looked at the spice rack, I saw the Ultramarines standing there in perfect formation. Corronus faced me. I looked behind him momentarily; the spice rack had been lined up in alphabetical order. _Holy fucking obsessive-compulsiveness..._

"We believe this shall help your work be more efficient, Titan," the blond Sergeant replied as professionally as usual.  
 _I guess they're trying to help out as a way of paying me back or something..._

"Thanks?" I say with awkwardness in my voice. _Maybe they can help with the laundry too..._

I concluded that getting take-out would be the path of least resistance.

**MAY 5 - EVENING**  
I decided to order Indian. After I filled my plate up, I started writing a shopping list for actual food.

A few minutes later I turned back to the countertop and one of the dishes was already missing. Sure, I had my share already but still...

I stood up and walked down the hall; a few steps in front of me, the plastic carton was being held aloft by the Salamanders. _Well of course the black people are the first to steal from me..._

I went back to finish my plate, and afterwards I went to my bedroom.

When I saw the sight, it dawned on me; the Salamanders weren't based on the American idea of "black people" and GW is a British company. Hence why the sight of the Salamanders handing out equal portions of the Chicken Tikka Masala (even with the chunks of meat sliced more finely to create a more egalitarian distribution) suddenly made sense; the Salamanders are Indian, and just as communist as Goa and West Bengal. _Soon they'll probably start a Permit Raj on my fucking desk_. I guess maybe next time I order Indian I'll get them an extra-hot beef vindaloo... they'd probably enjoy that.

I couldn't get angry at them really. They shared the food equally, and to be honest I had a large portion of it and there were still plenty of leftovers. So I brought the remaining leftovers in.

"Am I to be starved as I was in the dungeons of my homeworld?" Angron asked from his place on the shelf. "It would be unwise to make me revert to my chaotic dietary habits," he added. I didn't know how serious that threat was (his tank-treads-moving-across-rubble timbre didn't help matters), but given Angron's shitty past, I was happy to share with him too. 

I looked at the Space Marines and Sisters with a very serious face. "Sure Angron, you can join in the meal as well," I stated whilst keeping my gaze towards the other miniatures.

As sour as the Sisters' faces went, no one objected. I lifted a hand up to the shelf where the miniature Primarch dwelt and carried him down to the desk.

Surprisingly, his favorite curry turned out to be the meat-free lentil one. 

**MAY 6 - MORNING**  
This wasn't going to be easy news to break.

I tapped on the door of the Wolves' Den in the morning; I guessed they'd still have a hangover, so they'd be less likely to riot about what they were going to hear.

Rangvald answered; the painted plastic panel opened and he looked up into my eyes. I could see the red veins crawling over his sclerae already. _Bingo_ I thought.  
"Aye, Titan?" he asked wearily.

"I can't keep buying Scotch for you. The cops... I mean Arbites... could catch me," I said bluntly. A smuggling record wouldn't be good for my career prospects, and I couldn't take them to Canada every week let alone every day.

Haldor's face seemed more disappointed than angry, and almost resembled that of a kicked puppy.  
"To be honest," he began in reply, "at the moment my pack and I feel that a few alcohol-free hours would be a relief..." He paused briefly before continuing, "yet with each evening our supplies dwindle."

_And each afternoon too_ I added in my head. "Couldn't you make your own?" I asked.

Rangvald paused for a moment; "I do not suppose you hath a still that can fit within our den?"

He then broke out into a smile; I could practically see the lightbulb flash above his head. "The Salamanders can build it for us!" he declared.

Several minutes later, Sergeant Py'ron listed the materials that would be necessary; copper (I guess I could buy lots of copper wire he could melt?) and a ceramic crucible like the ones in chemistry class. He promised me that it could also contain fire from spreading, which greatly reduced my fear of coming back to the house set ablaze because of the Salamanders praying to the oven's pilot light.   
"My men will hath their ritual space, and it shall not endanger you," the Sergeant said in a ponderous yet considerate baritone. Sure, he wasn't the most engaging speaker but at least he wasn't an asshole.

So the second shopping list began to grow. Not only did I need to get some blood drawn, I needed copper wire and a ceramic crucible. Oh yeah, and actual food this time too...

I guess if the Salamanders can keep the Space Wolves well-hydrated, that'll make up for Grand Theft Curry.

**MAY 6 - AFTERNOON**  
Not having to cross the border made shopping a lot faster this time. So it wasn't too long before I was back home and making myself a sandwich. 

I gave the crucible and copper wire to the Salamanders, and handed over the two vials of blood to the Blood Angels (or more correctly, the two of them who were buzzing about nearby; each one airlifted a single vial back to their chapter house on my desk). Then after restocking the pantry and fridge I got to work on the snack.

I sat down at the table; I noticed Angron was sitting in the center with his bottle of pills still beside him. The bottle seemed to almost perfectly match the Primarch's sitting height.   
"Hey Angron, holding up?"

Angron looked up at me and nodded. "I still feel no nails and hear no Khorne; even the Emperor's Leeches are starting to believe it now. I sleep on a bed, and the meal you shared with us was more flavorsome than anything I hath ate before, even when in the service of my Sire," he stated. 

I smiled, but a bit weakly. He could've just said he was happy but, well, I guess he's never known "happiness" before. 

"You know," he began again, this time with another flash of smirk, "one of the Sisters has been following me."

I raised an eyebrow and paused with a sandwich half-lifted to my mouth.

"Not in an attempt to assassinate me either," he continued in his subterranean gravel. "I made eye contact with her and her face went blood red..." He chuckled slowly; it sounded more like an engine starting up than a laugh.

"Aren't they too busy thinking about your father to..." I stopped there; Angron nodded and his smirk grew even more serrated.

"The family resemblance, I believe the phrase is..." And sure, Angron was technically a clone rather than Empy's son, but that only made it more plausible. Not only do the Sisters of Battle pet the kitten over the Emperor, one of them has the hots for the closest living thing to the Emperor they'll ever get near.

The whole "Demon Primarch Heretic" thing is a pretty big complicator though; about a 16/10 on the Capulet-Montague scale for Things That Doom Star Cross'd Lovers. Although its more than likely he doesn't reciprocate the attraction... at least he doesn't have a pet rabbit to worry about.

**MAY 6 - REALLY FUCKING LATE**  
It sounded like whimpers at first. I was caught in that half-way groggy state between the dream I was having and being awake, but as I grew closer to consciousness I could hear crying. And then words.  
"Away from his light... away from his light..."

Then those words became shrill cries of desperation. I twitched and rolled over to face my desk.

Only when I heard the gunshot did I finally sit up. Sure, it sounded more like a toy 'cap' gun than anything else, but I knew what that sound meant. I turned on the bedside light and walked over to the desk.

In the very front-center of the "village" were the rudiments of a central plaza. Lying there was the very small body of one of the Sisters of Battle. Her head appeared to have been exploded by the high-caliber round; tiny fragments of blood, bone and what I swore was brain were splattered around (Corronus was clearly not going to enjoy the clean-up job... his precious gleaming white columns would need a scrubbing). 

The heavy doors of the Sisters' temple opened; out strode Sister Superior Helena Marianas with a furious scowl on her face. She walked down to the plaza before she screamed out "bring forth the condemned!"

The remaining Sisters' walked forth; in the center of the group was one who struggled. She was bound and blindfolded and being dragged towards Marianas.

Immediately, Tremarius stood on the steps of his chapter house; he held his bolter but was only wearing a makeshift white toga held together at the shoulder with a gold safety pin.  
"What is the meaning of this, Sister Superior?" he inquired demandingly. His eyes, which matched the color of his armor, were narrowed in anger.

"This vile heretical slut," she announced as he threw the bound sister to the ground in front of her and held beneath her boot, "is going to die! And the faithless whore behind me," she continued in a voice that was almost painfully high, "killed herself."

"Alright, alright," I then said; all pairs of eyes turned to me. "What's going on here? Start from the beginning, Sister Superior." I was tempted to call her 'Sis' but frankly I didn't want to provoke her to become any more insufferable than she already was.

"This weak ingrate," she said as she pointed her gun towards the corpse, "denied the Emperor's presence! She heretically claimed we were in a universe away from His light! I would've killed her myself if she hadn't ran out here and done the job!"

One of the other Sisters then kicked the headless body off the edge of the plaza, which was also the edge of the desk. The tiny corpse dropped into the wastepaper basket on the floor beneath. It landed with a near-inaudible thud that was overshadowed by the soft crackle of the basket's plastic bag liner being disturbed.

"And her?" I asked with shock-wide eyes as I pointed to the bound sister beneath Helena's boot.

Marianas immediately held the gun to the struggling nun's head.  
"She..." the Sister Superior began with absolute ferocity in her tone, "she wrote devotionals to the traitor!"

The familiar low rumble of a laugh came from the shelf above me; I glanced up and saw Angron standing with axes in hand. Almost immediately, several Blood Angels took flight from their chapter house and encircled the bronze-skinned Primarch's perch.  
"You won't even let me see those love letters?" he asked through an even more sinister smirk than before.

"SILENCE, TRAITOR!" Helena shrieked in reply. "You did this to her! You must have tainted her or something... or raped her!"

"Do you have any evidence for such a claim, Marianas?" Corronus asked in a booming voice.

"She does not," Angron responded. "And she flatters herself if she believes I preoccupy my thoughts with her people." He paused then before his smirk grew even more malicious; "or herself, for that matter," he added. 

The white-haired nun simply roared with rage in response; while doing so, she pulled the trigger. Another cap-gun-style pop rang out through the air and even more viscera splashed over the columns surrounding the plaza. A few flecks landed on Corronus' toga. Another dead body was kicked into the trash receptacle below.

My mouth fell slightly open. _Holy fuck..._ I thought. Sure, in hindsight that shouldn't have shocked me, but sometimes their small size makes it easy to forget they're all brainwashed killers. 

But I just watched a human being get murdered in front of me. 

The eight remaining Emperor's Jihadettes then began to swiftly walk back to their monastery; Marianas held her nose at a forty-five degree angle.  
"Only those most devoted to Him deserve the privilege of being in His service," she hissed before she crossed the threshold of the skull-bedecked basilica. 

Immediately, Sergeant Corronus began to haul a box of q-tips out of the Ultramarine's headquarters ( _I wonder what other supplies they've "requisitioned"... Ahh well, they're easily replaced at least_ ). He picked one out of the box and began to use it to mop up some of the gore. He momentarily looked up at me.  
"Do not concern yourself, Titan," he said in a voice that seemed to be caught between a warning and an attempt to ease my shock. "The Ultramarines shall cleanse the debris."

The Blood Angels circling around Angron descended back to their dollhouse-monastery, but I then looked up to see the Primarch standing there. He gazed down at the bloodstains. His axes were no longer in his hands. There was no smirk or pleasure or relish on his face; he looked at the execution site not exactly regretfully, but solemnly. 

After Corronus had pushed all the remaining chunks of flesh, bone and organ matter off the edge, I took the wastepaper basket's liner-bag out to the kitchen. I triple-bagged the contents. I thought about burying them in the yard, but they ended up in the trash.

"Only those most devoted to Him deserve the privilege of being in His service" she said; just recently I heard them having orgasms over Him. They go into some frenzy every time they're reminded of their fantasy boyfriend... either by Angron or when one of the Sisters gets hit with a crisis of faith. And they kill each other without remorse. I wonder if this is religious devotion or some subliminated Darwinian competition between them for who gets the Emperor... each dead Sister is one less person who could be more devoted to Him, one less competitor for His Imperial Doomcock. Its like _Mean Girls_ with a body count.

Maybe if the Blood Angels just bit them without draining them dry the Sisters would get more release and be less psycho as a result. The vampirism shit could save lives.

When I got back to my room, all the Ultramarines were standing there, holding q-tip mops. At least some of my guests are trying to make things easier for me.

I climbed into bed but I didn't get much sleep that night.

**End Of Part 2**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist ending on a darker note. But I'll try not to descend into depressing-ness.


End file.
